The Elevator
by sweetrupturedlight
Summary: ONE SHOT: "Dammit. I'm not attracted to that idiotic detective!"


Petra Solano stabbed the illuminated white button on the wall, calling for the elevator. Impatient, she jabbed at it manically until the doors opened. The elevator car was empty and gratefully, she stepped inside and slumped against the back in defeat. Her carefully constructed life was falling to pieces. Even now, she could feel the tentacles of her past reaching for her, threatening to destroy everything she'd worked so hard to achieve.

She felt tears burn the back of her lids and closed her eyes, taking a few deep, calming breaths. Tears wouldn't help. She'd learnt that lesson a long time ago. The elevator pinged and she straightened her spine, her face an impassive, composed mask when the doors slid open to accommodate another guest.

The mask slipped and she rolled her eyes when Michael Cordero entered. She readjusted the thin gold trap of her purse across her shoulder before folding her arms.

"Good afternoon to you too, Petra," he said, pressing the button for the lobby.

She pulled an ungracious face. "Don't talk to me."

"I wasn't planning to."

He stood off to the right of her, shoulders relaxed, his hands in his pant pockets as he silently waited for the lift to reach its destination. _Was he whistling under his breath?_ She had the urge to stick out her tongue at him, but knew the childish compulsion was as a result of the crushing anxiety that rested across her shoulders.

"What are you doing here anyway? You know you're obsessed with this hotel right?"

Soft blue eyes turned to her as he rocked back on his heels. "I might point out that you asked me not to speak to you."

"Stalking your ex fiancé?" she baited. "Pathetic."

"Not as pathetic as trying to get yourself inseminated with your estranged husband's baby in order to cash in on his millions," he shot back casually.

Impassive, her cool mask slipped into place.

"Stick to your sub par detective work and keep your nose out of business that doesn't concern you." Her tone was haughty. "You know nothing about me."

He shook his head in wry amusement, turning to face her. "I know you're desperate to hold onto a man that doesn't love you." He began ticking her offences off on his fingers. "I know you haven't worked a day in your life and yet you think you deserve Rafael's money. I don't like the guy," he pulled a face, "but at least he has a job. I know that you had an affair with your husband's _best _friend - classy by the way - and that you probably didn't give a damn about Roman Zazo either. I know-"

Petra felt the sting of his words and looked away. On the outside she looked bored. On the inside, well, that was a different matter. She was used to these insults, her implacable composure firmly in place. He thought he knew her, but he knew nothing about her. No one did. Not even Rafael. Her entire life was a lie and because of it, she couldn't let anyone close to her. _No one._ The thought came from nowhere, a harsh reminder of her loneliness. Michael's words were cut off when the lights flickered, and the elevator car came to a sudden, grinding halt.

"What the-"

"No no no no nooooo." She pushed him out of the way and pressed the ground floor button. She continued pressing it, then any and every other button on the panel. Except, nothing worked because the panel was dead.

"Hey, ease up," Michael said, reaching for her hand. "I was stuck in here the other day. Must be a power issue related to the storm."

Petra brushed his hand aside and continued pressing the buttons. The lights flickered again. "No no no no no."

She felt panic rise to choke her, the walls of the elevator threatening to close in on her. She didn't like confined spaces ordinarily, but being in this tin box in her current state was unbearable. She felt her breathing hitch and she hit the panel hard with both her palms.

"Move dammit!"

"Hey! Hey!" Michael called, his hands reaching for her shoulders. "Petra!"

"I can't be in here right now. I just can't."

"Cool it, ok! Hitting the damned thing isn't going to get us out here any sooner. Jane and I weren't in here for that long-"

"I don't care about you and your damned pregnant, virginal, _perfect_ girlfriend!" she cried, her voice breaking. "I just want to get out of here and away from you!"

"The feeling is mutual lady. But until then, rein in the hysterics will you?"

The lights flickered again and the car went dark. "No no no no," she whispered, losing all semblance of calm. Petra couldn't even see her fingers. The elevator car was pitch black. This time she didn't shrug from his touch when he reached for her because she was frozen.

"Looks like a power cut." Michael's voice was softer when he touched her arm this time. His fingers were tentative, getting a feel for her in the dark. She closed her eyes then opened them - it made no difference. Petra Solano, an expert at manipulation, a woman who'd survived more tragedies than anyone would ever know about, _hated_ the dark. Perhaps it had something to do with the small, dark spaces she was forced to hide in when her father would come home in a drunken rage, prepared to use his daughter as a punching bag.

The palms of her hands began to sweat and she felt a scream rise in her throat, begging for release. She was hyperventilating.

"Hey, hey! Petra! Look at me, look at me!" Michael's voice reached her from somewhere and she opened her eyes. He had his mobile out, the screen casting a cool, but comforting blue light into the dark.

"Great, now breathe ok. It's going to be all right. We won't be in here long, I promise."

She felt him reach for her left hand, placing it across his heart. "Can you feel that? That's my heartbeat. Now look at me. Right… breathe. That's it."

Petra looked into his eyes, the calm blue somehow helping to restore some of her equilibrium. She was shaking.

"How do you know about this stuff?" she choked out.

"Cop remember? I did a crisis management course."

She swallowed hard, pushing at the nausea at the back of her throat. His heartbeat was a steady _thump, thump, thump _and she leaned towards it, for a moment, powerless to resist letting go of the fierce control she always maintained over her emotions.

She felt Michael stiffen as her forehead pressed to his chest but she didn't care. Slowly, her own erratic heartbeat stopped its frantic gallop and returned to a slightly more comfortable canter.

"That's it," he whispered, the hand not holding hers to his heart began tentatively stoking the hair that cascaded down her back. "Just breathe. You're doing great."

The roar in her ears subsided as she continued to focus on her breathing. Slowly she became aware of other things - like the pleasant, soothing sound of his voice. She'd never noticed the soft, unexpectedly rich baritone before. Or how muscled his chest was, his shoulders surprisingly broad as her small frame settled perfectly in the center of his lanky build. And his smell… _clean_. No expensive cologne, only the crisp, clean scent of soap.

Alarmed at the direction of her thoughts, Petra opened her eyes. The lights were back on! How long had he let her stand like that? She felt embarrassed at the display of weakness and raised her head, ready to step back from him. But then their eyes met. His were deep, blue, _concerned_ as he assessed her face. Gone was the usual suspicion and barely veiled disgust. In its place was compassion and _kindness_.

The sarcastic retort died on her lips as she felt the unexpected thrill of attraction spark to life between them. She knew she wasn't imagining it when she saw the answering flash in the depths of his eyes. Her breath hitched, this time, not because of fear. Her eyes flicked to his lips, his eyes, back to his mouth before locking their gazes. _This is ridiculous_, her mind screamed. But as if stuck in some unwanted trance, she felt herself lean towards him, their bodies moving together magnetically.

Petra felt the hand at her back move up to cup the nape of her neck, her fingers automatically fisting into the fabric of his shirt above his heart.

"This is insane," she whispered, parched.

"I know," came his response.

But both of them were powerless as their lips hovered, their breaths mingling in anticipation. Petra felt her lids flicker shut as she sighed into the soft kiss. Their lips pressed together in the first tentative taste. She felt electricity hum between them and gasped in surprise. About to press closer, she was completely unprepared for the sharp surge of the elevator as it slid smoothly towards the ground.

Appalled, she practically shot to the other side of the small space, her hands pressed to her lips. Despite the brevity of the kiss, she could still feel the imprint of his lips on hers, his smell all around her.

"What did you just say?" he asked, his face flushed.

"Say? I didn't say anything." Petra dropped her hand from her lips, realising that his scent still clung to her fingers.

"You whispered something when we… just before we…"

Her spine straightened, the cool mask in place. "Don't be ridiculous."

"It wasn't English," he pressed. "It was foreign… Russian maybe?" His hands went back into his pockets, those blue eyes assessing as they looked at her.

Petra swallowed hard and looked away. _Had she spoken in Czech? _She shook her head. _What the hell just happened?_

"You have no idea what you're talking about," she hissed, the only defence she had left was anger.

"Oh I think I do. You're a piece of work you know that?"

Petra threw a dirty look in his direction and moved to the front of the elevator, waiting for the doors to open. She could feel his eyes boring into her back, sending frissons of sensation dancing down her spine.

The doors slid open and two technicians stared at both of them.

"Mrs. Solano, are you alright?"

"Fine!" she snapped. "What the hell took so long?" Without a backward glance, Petra strode towards the exit of the hotel, desperate to escape.

"Petra! Wait!"

She didn't turn, just continued walking – _fleeing_ - until Michael's hand caught hers and spun her around.

"Let go of me!" Her arm tingled and perhaps his did too because he immediately dropped her arm as if he'd touched a live wire.

"You forgot this!" He shoved her purse in her face. "And most people," he shouted, "would say thank you."

"Thank you for that…" her voice lowered to a hiss so no one would hear, "_kiss_? It wasn't that great. In fact, it was barely anything." _Liar_, her subconscious whispered.

"I meant for what came _before_ that momentary lapse of-" He was at a loss for words. He raked his hands through his hair. "You know what, whatever. Most human beings would say thank you."

Embarrassed again, she knew he was right but her pride wouldn't allow her to actually thank him. "I'm not most people!" she shouted back.

"Clearly!" He did a mock salute. "So long Princess."

She licked her lips, nervous, out of her depth, confused. "You mention that to anyone and I'll-"

He stalled her words. "Believe me. I've already forgotten it."

"Good!"

"Great!" He lingered a moment, their eyes dueling before he turned and walked away.

Petra watched Michael leave, his stride efficient and economical. She also noticed the way his shirt clung to his broad shoulders and how his hair was slightly tousled by the fingers he'd raked through the dark brown strands. Disgusted, she turned away, walked a few steps before she stopped, realising she had no idea where she was going.

Looking back, her worried eyes gazed after his disappearing frame. _Dammit. I'm not attracted to that idiotic detective!_

But unexpectedly, Michael turned back and their eyes locked briefly. Petra's stomach dropped. She knew then that she was _definitely_ attracted.

_Shit!_

* * *

><p><em>an: I don't know if anyone else is feeling this ship, but I am. I think Michael and Petra are kind of perfect as that _oh-no-they-shouldn't-but-omg-its-so-good_ kind of ship.  
><em>


End file.
